


when the smoke clears

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Banter, Cap Quartet, Chronic Pain, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friendship, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Movie Night, Shotgunning, Smoking, Teasing, captain americas super spliffs, this is self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: Natasha stretches and sits up in her seat. “James,” she says, no nonsense tone out to play. “No one is trying to guilt you. We’re your friends. It’s just genuine concern.” The label of friend coming from someone as closed off as Natasha is nice to hear, but what comes next is even nicer. Natasha’s lips curl up into a smile. “Besides, I have something that might be able to help you out a bit if you’re willing to give it a try.”Bucky blinks and sits up a little himself until he’s successfully propped up against Steve’s side, broad back against his bicep. “And what would that be?”As usual, Natasha is blunt, braid falling over her shoulder as she leans forward with a smirk. “Weed.”Steve is the first to react, eyebrows going up. “Marijuana?”(alternatively: weed bucky. that’s about it)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 105





	when the smoke clears

**Author's Note:**

> it took everything in me not to title this amerijuana.  
> disclaimer! i am someone who smokes marijuana and cbd for both medical and recreational purposes. i don’t see anything wrong with it for myself personally. but with that being said, don’t smoke pot yourself unless you want to (and definitely don’t smoke just because you read about it in this fic). it isn’t for everyone, but in this instance and fic, it is for bucky (and a little bit for steve too).

There’s a misconceived notion, Bucky would say, that most people hold about having the serum meaning those who have it no longer feel proper pain. ‘Those who have it’ meaning him and Steve, because like a lot of other things, that’s something the two of them only share in common with each other. Even if Bucky’s serum is a little different. 

The general public isn’t privy to the exact biology (or would it be chemistry?) and its effects on Steve’s body after the serum, and not even _Bucky_ is fully knowledgeable about the difference his own dose of it holds, but considering it’s something that’s flowing through _their_ bodies- the both of them know a good bit more than anything an unapproved biography or museum exhibit is able to inform people of. Personal experience, and whatnot. 

Sure, it did a number on Steve health wise- fixed up his lungs and back, shot him up a good ten inches with a hundred pounds of muscle mass to boot, made him quicker, bigger, stronger. It did a lot of that for Bucky too even though he didn’t have as much of a rough starting place to begin with (although objectively the conditions he received his treatments in were a bit less bright and shiny than Steve’s with the SSR). Thanks to it, they can both put on muscle and lose weight with a level of ease all their non-enhanced friends envy, see, hear, and smell at a level that’s borderline inconvenient when not in the field, even use the stamina to fuck longer if they feel like it (although that’s not something either of them have let SHIELD put to the test). 

And yes, they heal faster than the average person too, but that by no means translates into either of them not feeling pain. 

They both definitely have different pain tolerances, although they were both used to feeling it on a constant basis one way or another before the serum. Steve’s, of course stemming from all the chronic conditions (one even being chronic _pain_ with the rheumatic fever) and reckless behavior that often led to scuffling on the streets until Bucky swooped in to save the day, Bucky’s coming from working the docks and the more controlled outlet of recreational boxing he once had back in the forties that left him sore and aching with Steve always offering to help knead it out if his joints were having a good day. 

Then of course there’s everything they went through after the war hit- but even before, they knew pain, and they definitely _still_ know pain now. Saving the world and being an assassin is what Bucky would deem a rough and tumble profession. They still scar. Still get sore. Still feel the sting of every wound and shot gone wrong.

Bucky frankly thinks it’s a bit ridiculous the sentiment they can still hurt is one he has to broadcast considering he’s _missing an arm_ but treating Steve’s status as a super soldier (and by proximity, Bucky’s own) as a fictional forever fix-all is a habit the public has always been prone too. To an extent, Bucky gets it- Steve when he’s in his Captain America persona is a little bit larger than life (some might claim he’s like that out of it too, but to Bucky his guy’s always going to be a big baby with how soft he knows Steve can be in private). 

It’s easy to forget they’re both human at the end of the day, though Bucky had a hard time admitting that even as a sentiment he himself no longer holds given his history with being reduced to less than that at HYDRA’s hands. He’s a big boy, though, quite literally with how much bulk he’s kept on since returning to Steve from being on the run after the Helicarrier’s fall. He can deal with it. 

It just sucks sometimes, if he’s being honest- Steve’s already always pushing himself to his limits. He doesn’t need any more helpfully misconstrued ideas from the public to get him further into that headspace, and Bucky doesn’t need any more misconstrued ideas about his body in general, not when he’s fought so hard to get all that he has back. 

Autonomy issues, his therapist has called it. _Awful_ is what Bucky would say. Inconvenient. Waking up having forgotten his body is his own again is something that occurs less and less nowadays, but the occurrence of that at all is off putting to say the least. He’s gotten better with it, better enough to have let T’Challa’s scientists and kid sister supply him with a new arm (and even then, that had been enough to make him spiral for a week with Steve having to continually calm him down before finally accepting) but like Dr. Fried has says, better doesn’t mean perfect. 

No one is ever perfect, Bucky knows, especially not someone who has lived a life like his- but he’s proud of where he’s at, and he’ll be damned if he lets people who don’t know what they’re talking about take that away from him. No one is ever going to take away from him again, if he has his way- he’s had too much taken already. His memories, his mind, his control, choices, chunks of his life, _Steve_ , and most obviously- his arm. 

By technical terms, HYDRA didn’t take it. The fall did (although Bucky supposes that had in part been caused by Hydra to begin with), but even then, that had been what he’d had lost to him first before the literal laundry list of things that had followed. It’s one of the biggest physical changes even the serum hadn’t been able to fix.

The serum doesn’t stop him from feeling pain there, either. Hadn’t stopped him as the soldier with the arm still attached, though he’d been programmed to fight through it, and doesn’t stop him now even though he has a new prosthetic and that forced habit is something he’s now fighting against. 

The original metal arm- Bucky’s been trying to refrain from calling it _the_ arm now that it’s no longer attached to his body- had been like most things with Hydra, less than perfect. A prototype, in the beginning, and a patch job they’d never bothered to upgrade much in the end thanks to how well he- _it-_ seemed to serve the purpose they’d programmed him to. It had caused scarring at the suture site, pinched his skin, pulled at his back, and done a lot of other things Bucky tries not to think about. 

It had been a sudden change to lose an arm and a forced one to have it so quickly (and non-consensually) replaced. The moment he’d woken up after the fall and procedure to attach it, realized what had been done to him, he’d tried to use it to fight his way out even with his mind as hazy as it was. It hadn’t worked. But he’d tried. He’d _tried._ That’s always a comfort he’s had since then, knowing that even at his weakest, he’d been a fighter. He’d never wanted what had been done to him. 

Needless to say, as the Soldier he’d never had time to get used to missing a limb, never had time to get used to much of _anything_ that they changed- but now, here with Steve, at home and healing, he’s getting that chance. He’s getting better, although as he said and has heard a million times before- things will never be perfect. 

Phantom pain is one of those things that keep him pretty far from _perfection_. His doctors and shrinks had given him piles of paperwork on the subject once he admitted to feeling it. From what Bucky can tell, it’s another one of those things the serum will never heal. Another one of those pains the public doesn’t seem to understand people like him and Steve will probably always feel. 

It’s most common directly after the loss of the limb, according to what Bucky’s picked up on, but it’s been decades since the fall and Bucky still experiences it- could be a side effect of the repressed trauma of being aware the arm is gone or the unexplainable parts of the serum, is what Bruce had hypothesized. Bucky doesn’t really give a shit. All that matters is he still feels it- _why_ isn’t really the important part to him when he’s waking up wincing because he’s got sensations of his arm being sliced off shooting where there isn’t even skin anymore. 

The prosthesis Wakanda supplied him with has subdued sensation, which makes the pain of what Bucky feels a little confusing to deal with, mixed up signals getting sent to his brain. 

It’s because of that, he finds himself here on a Friday night, lounging on the sofa with his feet pressed against Sam’s side on the other end of the couch while he sits with his eyes closed and arm folded carefully across his chest, head resting in Steve’s lap to keep from jarring up more pain than he’s already feeling. 

The blonde is busy with his own eyes fixed on the television screen- they’re having movie night with Sam and Natasha (Sharon’s invitation had been apologetically declined due to an assignment she couldn’t get out of), a monthly occurrence they try to make sure they’re all in town for. 

Sam says it’s because Steve and Bucky need to be caught up on the cinema of the modern century. Bucky thinks it’s because he really just misses seeing Steve on a regular basis now that Steve lives back in Brooklyn with Bucky. Their brownstone is a step up in size and space from Steve’s SHIELD apartment from DC- thankfully with enough spare bedrooms to house their friends, because New York might always be their home, but that doesn’t mean they don’t miss their family. 

Regardless of Sam’s motives for movie night, that’s where they’re at right now, although Bucky’s heart sadly isn’t in enjoying _Fight Club_ tonight. It sounds great, based off of what he’s been able to catch- but the pain pinging through Bucky’s shoulder is making Brad Pitt’s power scenes a little hard to focus on. He’s not in agony, but he isn’t exactly having a blast right now either no matter how nice it is having Steve’s fingers sinking in to his hair. 

He’s pretty good at schooling his features and people are paying more attention to the screen than Bucky seemingly starting to sleep halfway through the movie- but as usual, Steve picks up on the fact something is bothering him sooner than later, and eventually Bucky feels his fingers pause their movements so Steve can lean down to brush a kiss against Bucky’s slightly tensed forehead. 

“You awake?” he whispers. They both know he is, but Bucky is grateful that Steve is giving him the option to opt out of copping to it anyways. 

He doesn’t take it, though. He’s not feeling the greatest, but he’s not low down enough to want to ignore Steve. “I’m still with you guys, just thought I’d rest my eyes,” he murmurs, not wanting to bother Steve when they’re supposed to be having fun. “You know how often old men need to nap and all.”

It’s only nine in the evening, but Steve doesn’t call him out on the bullshit, just hums and strokes Bucky’s hair again. “You’re holding your arm funny.” Ah. Maybe he _is_ calling him out on the bullshit tonight after all. 

Bucky tries not to wince, but opens his eyes to look up at Steve and take in his slight frown, dim in the flickering light from the screen. He keeps his voice low so Sam and Natasha aren’t distracted. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Shoulder’s just acting up a little is all. Nothin’ for you to worry that pretty little head of yours about.” He _is_ pretty, especially in that tight t-shirt he’s got on, chest right in Bucky’s eyeshot. Bucky tries to focus more on that than his arm. 

Steve sighs and shakes his head, but smiles slightly at the intentional sweet talk. “You’re my boyfriend. It’s kinda my job to worry about you, Buck.”

Bucky finds it in him to twist enough in order to press a kiss against Steve’s stomach through the cotton of his shirt he’s pretty sure he hears Sam sigh good naturedly at catching out of the corner of his eye. Steve looks a little shy at the gesture, but it also gets his smile wider, and Bucky counts it as a win. “I’ll be fine. Nothing you can do but let me lay here, anyways.”

“I could get the heating pad? Give you a massage?” Steve offers, earnest and eager to help as ever. “I think I have a few extra painkillers left from last time I was in the med bay.” They burn through most medication too fast to see any real result, but some substances still manage to make it through the serum cell regeneration rate if fashioned properly. Bruce has been a godsend about it considering he has a healing rate similar to their own thanks to the other guy residing inside him. 

Bucky lifts up his good arm to cup Steve’s cheek, smooth under his palm. “Thank you, sunshine. But it’s okay. Don’t wanna disturb our guests,” he says lowly, trying his best to be quiet with the movie still playing in the background. 

Which makes it entirely ironic when that effort is in vain. “Your guests can still hear you, you know,” Sam says, glancing over at Bucky next to him on the couch. Natasha nods in agreement from the loveseat, and before Bucky knows it, Sam is grabbing the remote to pause the movie and their plans are on pause as well with all eyes fixed on him and his stupid phantom pain. It makes for a good distraction, at least. 

Bucky winces, although neither of them look particularly irritated and Steve is still looking down at him with a mildly worried expression. “Guys, seriously. I’m fine.”

“You’ve got your arms crossed like you’re in a casket,” Natasha points out mildly. “And you look more uncomfortable than you did last time Stark commented on Steve’s ass.” Steve scoffs at that. He hadn’t liked it either. 

Bucky’s pretty sure part of his _discomfort_ is from all the attention and unintentional disruption of their plans, but he huffs and chooses not to use that as his defense. “It’s fine, I’m used to dealing with it. Doesn’t happen that often anymore anyways.” He’s telling the truth- it happens maybe once a month at this point where it used to happen every other week. Mobility training and therapy has worked wonders. 

“Shouldn’t just wallow in it,” Steve mutters, making an indignant sound when Bucky lightly claps his hand against his face for the smart mouthing. He is not _wallowing_. “I’m just saying you don’t have to suffer in silence. You’re always yelling at me for that.”

“As he should,” Sam says. Steve gives him a betrayed look, but he just rolls his eyes and gives Bucky a pointed look. “You can let us know you’re hurting, is all. Even if we can’t do much, at least you wouldn’t have to deal with it alone.” He nudges Bucky’s calf. “Besides, _Fight Club_ is something that should be enjoyed at its full potential, and you not being able to pay attention is a waste.”

Bucky groans and flexes his metal fingers to test out the sensation. It’s slightly better, enough that he can shift his arm without being too stiff. “Sorry.” He sounds sarcastic, but he does feel a little bad. 

Natasha stretches and sits up in her seat. “James,” she says, no nonsense tone out to play. “No one is trying to guilt you. We’re your friends. It’s just genuine concern.” The label of _friend_ coming from someone as closed off as Natasha is nice to hear, but what comes next is even nicer. Natasha’s lips curl up into a smile. “Besides, I have something that might be able to help you out a bit if you’re willing to give it a try.”

Bucky blinks and sits up a little himself until he’s successfully propped up against Steve’s side, broad back against his bicep. “And what would that be?”

As usual, Natasha is blunt, braid falling over her shoulder as she leans forward with a smirk. “Weed.”

Steve is the first to react, eyebrows going up. “Marijuana?” He sounds as stuffy as Stark tries to make him out to be and Bucky snorts, even as Natashas offer is still sinking in. He’s cute, Steve Rogers is. Scandalized over the idea of smoking as if they weren’t doing just that in drag bars back in the day before going home and breaking a dozen laws in their bed. 

_Congrats, Cap, you’re a criminal,_ Rhodey had once said. Little does he know Steve’s been breaking laws for as long as he learned how to fight. 

Bucky turns his head to give him an amused look. They both know Bucky used to smoke Lucky Strikes back when he could play safe at not irritating Steve’s lungs and then more often on the front when Steve’s lungs got safer and everything else got more stressful. Pot wasn’t found in the circles they both ran in too often- _giggle smokes_ they used to call it- but every once in a while a person would offer it up at the queer bars they chanced going to and Bucky would partake while Steve put his artist skills to practice doing makeup on the queens in the back. 

Bucky’s not exactly what he’s seen called a pot-head now, but he’s no stranger to what Natasha’s offering either, although he’s never tried it in terms of alleviating pain. Hell, he hasn’t tried it at all since getting the serum, because-

“I’m not sure I can even _get_ high anymore,” Bucky says, although he’s already on the verge of saying yes. It sounds pleasant, since they most likely aren’t finishing the movie tonight. “We sure can’t get drunk.”

“Except on Thor’s mead,” Sam grins. Steve flushes. They all know he’s alluding at the last time Steve got tipsy on it and said a few choice things about Bucky’s body in public that left everyone but him amused the morning after. 

They have a few shots of it around the house somewhere, although they don’t bring it out often with how easy it gets Steve going. He never used to drink much before with how much of a lightweight he was, which is something that seems to not have changed with his size somehow. 

As usual, Natasha has an answer. “This isn’t just any weed,” she says, cryptic until Bucky gives her a look. “Bruce engineered it.”

“ _Bruce_ smokes?” Steve says skeptically. He’s one to talk about assumptions of one’s prudishness. Whole world thinks he’s a cleancut virgin as if Bucky hasn’t been corrupting him since day one. 

Bucky tugs on his hair with his flesh fingers and drums against his scalp. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Bruce is kind of a science hippie, honey.” The yoga, tea, meditation, and tinkering with ways to relax and keep the green guy at bay- it’s not surprising. In fact, it makes a whole lot of sense. 

Steve settles into that at least, shrugging. “Guess I’ve heard more surprising things.”

“So have I after the last time you got drunk,” Sam mutters, snorting when Bucky’s foot kicks him gently in the side. He turns his attention to Natasha. “So you’re saying you’ve got some super weed?”

“And normal weed,” Natasha grins, looking practically giddy. “Bruce just gave me a stash to keep in case he comes around, but seeing as he’s off world, I don’t think he’d mind me letting Barnes use it to feel a little better. It’s not technically medical marijuana, but a doctor _did_ make it.” She nods to her purse on the kitchen counter. “Offer’s open for all of you if you want.”

Bucky knows he doesn’t need permission from Steve for anything, but he still likes to consider his feelings and comfort, so he twists his head to look at him and get a read on where he’s at. “That okay with you, sweet thing?” he murmurs. 

Steve blushes a bit at the pet name Bucky normally reserves for more private moments, but nods easily. He’s always had a soft spot for how Bucky looks while smoking and they both know it. “Yeah, Buck, of course.” He squeezes Bucky’s good shoulder with a tentative hand. “Just been a while since I’ve seen you do it, is all.” He’s never done it himself besides his singular venture into asthma cigarettes (that they know now do almost nothing besides make him hack up a lung with his asthma, ironically enough). 

“Long as you’re comfortable,” Bucky says softly, rolling his eyes at the look Steve gives him. This is supposed to be about _his_ comfort, he knows. With that thought in mind, he turns towards Natasha. “I think I’d like that.” Then, glancing at Sam, because he has enough manners to make sure everyone is in, “You good with that?”

Sam nods and smiles. “I’ll take a bit of it myself, actually,” he says. “I’m on leave from work. Might as well take advantage of it while I can.”

“Well then, boys,” Natasha drawls. “Shall we take this to the outdoors?” Bucky’s grateful she understands he doesn’t want their house reeking of weed. 

Glancing down, he looks at what he’s got on to make sure he doesn’t mind that getting saturated with the scent of what they’re about to do either. Just worn out grey sweats and a faded black shirt with a borrowed pair of Steve’s looser briefs underneath- his hair is up in a bun, so he isn’t worried about it getting in his face, thankfully. In short, he’s good to go. 

He tells Natasha as much, looking at her with a lazy smile before pushing up off the couch and offering Steve his good arm to tug him up as well. He shoves his prosthetic hand into his pocket, palm flat against the warmth of his own thigh. “You got a lighter?”

“I always come prepared,” Natasha says, sauntering over to grab her purse and reach inside to brandish the lighter in question at the three men following her outside to the patio. 

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand on the short walk out and squeezes reassuringly when Steve gives him a look that’s both soft and confused. “You don’t have to smoke just because I am, you know.” The peer pressure talk might be a bit cliche, but Bucky feels better knowing Steve has heard it. 

Steve smiles despite the exasperated sigh he lets out, letting Bucky tug him to walk tucked up against his side. “I know.” He doesn’t say whether that’s a yes or no on the smoking, but Bucky knows the answer is most likely no. Steve is restrained about certain things sometimes and Bucky has a feeling this is one of them, especially while he knows Bucky is still in pain. 

The pain has admittedly already lessened a slight amount, but it’s still acting up enough for Bucky to wince as he plops down on the patio swing with Steve joining next to him, Sam and Natasha opting to sit at the outdoor dining table, chairs scooted to face them in a pseudo circle. Steve looks at him with worried eyes gone large, and Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve’s pressed against his flesh arm, so he raises it up to sling around his shoulders. 

“I’m fine, worrywart,” he promises, kissing his temple. “Relax.”

Steve wiggles closer into the embrace, but his words still come out like he’s trying to sound stern (it doesn’t quite work with how close he’s clinging). “ _You’re_ supposed to be the one relaxing right now, Buck.”

Bucky kisses him again, this time on the lips, stubble scraping against his skin. It’s quick, but Steve is still blushing at the PDA when he pulls back- as if Natasha isn’t busy rolling reefers for each of them with Sam watching how quickly she’s working with fascination. “I’m relaxing plenty. Got you right here. That’s all I need.”

“Sweet talker,” Steve mutters, but he looks pleased. Bucky is pleased himself, whatnot with the pleasant scent of good weed already drifting over and Steve tucked up in a tight shirt right against his side. 

“Sweet _heart,_ ” Bucky croons. Natasha snorts from the table. Bucky ignores her, too focused on Steve blush spreading up his cheeks. He knows his guy might get flustered at the attention from Bucky and others alike, but Bucky also knows he loves seeing how open they’re allowed to be about their relationship in every way they can. He likes people seeing how much Bucky loves him and vice versa. 

Sam might retch at their levels of sappiness sometimes, but Bucky knows he’s happy for them. Natasha is too. It’s nice to know, though. Nice to see, nice to let _them_ see certain sides of it. 

Hence the second kiss Bucky presses to Steve’s mouth, unapologetic in his affection. Steve’s gone a little hazy eyed by the time Bucky pulls back, leg hooked up over Bucky’s knee to draw in closer with a hand placed flat over top his chest. It’s not cold out with the weather the way it is, but Steve is still warmer than the night air against him, and it’s nice. It only gets even nicer when Sam leans forward from his spot in the patio chair with the joint Bucky assumes is made with Bruce’s strain outstretched in his hand. 

Bucky’s feeling okay enough to accept it with the fingers of his metal arm with how he already has Steve lodged up under the other, not wanting to move him. It’s a comfortable position worth the slight ache that stings through the shoulder Steve’s head isn’t currently resting on. 

“Thanks,” he tells Sam, raising up the joint in a mock toast that’s echoed by the other man holding up his own. “Pass the light?”

Natasha, being the one who bears it, ignores them all for a second, busy flicking the wheel with her thumb to ignite the tiny flame and cup her hand over it to light up for herself. She passes it to Sam next, who does the same, both far more in practice at it than Bucky knows he’s going to be. 

It’s always a little weird, doing things now that he hasn’t since before he was the Soldier- in the case of getting high, since well before the war- but it’s always welcome. The familiarity is good, even if the actions are always a bit foreign at first. 

The feel of a modern lighter- plastic, as most things are nowadays- is definitely a different fit in Bucky’s palm when he takes it in hand after moving it to his flesh side from where Sam had given to his metal fingers once again. As adept as Shuri is with engineering the arm, he doesn’t think metal striking metal is a combination that would be productive for Bucky’s pain getting the lighter to light. The arm was made to serve him, but it wasn’t exactly made to smoke. 

His right arm is still cradled around Steve’s neck, which means pulling the lighter over to try and get at the joint now hanging out between his lips comes at an awkward angle that has him sighing out of the corner of his mouth. He might have to ask Steve to move after all. 

Or maybe now- a moment later, Steve raises up his hand to lay below Bucky’s on the light like it’s 1933 and Bucky is trying to teach him to dance again. Only this time, Steve’s the one with the offer. “Here,” he says quietly, taking the lighter delicately in hand once Bucky gets with the program and lets him have it. “Let me.”

Steve’s fingers are clumsy trying to mimic Natasha and Sam’s motions on the sparkwheel- he’s being a little extra careful with his strength, Bucky can tell. Probably for the best with how cheap lighters are made- but eventually he hits it the right way with the pad of his thumb and there’s a newborn flame nudging up towards where Bucky needs it courtesy of an ever-helpful Steve, looking up at him with a shy smile. 

Bucky inhales to make sure the paper catches, taking the first slow drag of smoke into his lungs while Steve sets the lighter down outside his thigh on the chair of the swing. The warmth and thickness that fills to the back of his throat is soothing, something in his mind settling so much at the sensation he can feel his eyes skip shut. He’d missed this, apparently. A lot. He even groans on the exhale, smoke let out into the air of the patio right alongside Sam and Natasha doing the same, quiet and companionable with their silence. 

Bucky breaks that silence enough to let his head loll to the side where it’s rested against the back of their seat to look at Steve with a slight smile. It’s too soon for the strain to have really hit him- even one that’s super- but he’s feeling slowed down and satisfied enough for the pain in his shoulder to become somewhat of a second thought. 

He nudges his bare foot against Steve’s own socked one where the blonde still has his leg crossed over one of Bucky’s thighs to rest between the cradle of them. “Thanks for the light, doll.”

The drawl is a little over the top, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, just smiles and ducks his head a little until Bucky leans back over to take another drag in from the joint held in the arm still slung around his shoulders. He lets out a small sound when the motion squeezes him in snug. 

“No problem, Buck,” he says softly. His fingers are playing with the inseam of Bucky’s sweats almost absentmindedly where it pokes out from below where his own knee is nudged against it. His question comes out curious enough to be intentional, though. “Any good?”

The weed, he must mean. Bucky smiles, and thinks back to that soft spot he mentioned earlier Steve has when it comes to seeing Bucky like this. Punk’s always had a bit of a thing for his mouth. With that in mind, he takes a third inhale of smoke in, this time so slow and deliberate there’s no doubt in mind everyone around him knows it’s intended to be a show. For Steve’s benefit, of course. Sam and Natasha are only seeing it by proxy. 

He brings the joint up to his lips, the skin of his arm warm against Steve’s neck where it presses, and draws in his breath with pursed lips and a tilted back head that’s angled intentionally to show off the smooth line of his throat. Steve’s close enough to feel the movement of it right up against him, and his own hitched breathing tells Bucky his over the top efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. 

Sam’s groaning tells him that too. “Hell, Barnes,” he sighs, flicking the ash off of his own joint before taking a hit off it that leaves his voice rasping through the exhale. “Lay off it. Me and Natasha are still here, remember?”

Bucky smirks and passes his joint off to his other hand, shoulder settled down enough for him to switch sides so he can sink his flesh fingers into Steve’s hair. The tips of the metal are cool against his lips on the next drag, and it’s finally now that he can feel the syrupy slow sensation of bliss sinking into his skull at the next touch of smoke against the back of his throat. 

Turns out the super weed _does_ work wonders. Go figure- the magic of science. 

Steve practically pushing up into his hand, seemingly satisfied enough himself with the mere scent of everyone else’s ministrations to be a little more laid back than just the company of friends got him to begin with. Doesn’t keep him from biting back a bit, though, stubborn little shit.

“Our house,” he says, almost sleepily. His cheek presses into the stubble of Bucky’s neck, smooth skin pressing sweetly into the shift of Bucky’s deep breathing. “He’s allowed to do what he wants. ‘Specially if it makes him look pretty.”

Sam scoffs, but Bucky smiles and looks down at Steve, chin propping on his scalp after the blonde takes one look at his slightly sordid expression and ducks right back down again. “I’m pretty, huh?” he whispers, keeping his voice quiet enough for Sam and Natasha to shift their attention back to what they’re smoking rather than the two of them.

Steve hums, reaching up and touching Bucky’s jaw lightly. He lifts his head up enough for Bucky to see the blush that spreads across his face when he catches sight of the familiar two fingered position of Bucky’s hand, even with the blunt still set between it. He doesn’t say anything, but Bucky knows. He always knows. 

“You’re always pretty,” Steve says softly, eyes fixed on the purse of Bucky’s lips. “Just...extra, right now.”

Bucky glances down to the ratty sweats and thin t-shirt he’s got on, eyebrows raised skeptically. “Dressed like this?” He’s fully aware he’s fishing, but that’s part of the fun with someone as earnest as Steve. 

Case and point, his straightened up posture and slightly shy expression at the open compliment he gives Bucky a moment later with both of their friends fully in earshot. “I like you in sweatpants. Makes you look...cozy.”

Bucky snorts and tugs on Steve’s hair. “Cozy, huh?” Steve’s line of sight to the crotch of said sweatpants betrays something else he likes the look of as well, but he won’t comment on that as long as their friends are here. And speaking of…

“You know you can take a hit if you want,” Natasha says, smirking at the clear fixation Steve has on Bucky’s mouth and the puff of smoke that seeps out among the stubble. Bucky blows it up into the wind so that it drifts away, but the focus on Steve’s face doesn’t fade. “It won’t kill you.”

Steve’s never been one pressured into doing things he doesn’t want to- goaded, sure, but not so easily swayed. Natasha wouldn’t do something like that out of malice, but Bucky still makes sure to check in with him anyways, joint hanging between his fingers while he takes a break to press his lips against Steve’s ears and murmur to him quietly. “You don’t gotta.”

Steve’s back to fiddling with Bucky’s inseam again, hum noncommittal. “Don’t have the best history with smoking,” he says honestly. His lungs had never allowed it very happily before, even secondhand. “I don’t mind you guys doing it, but- I don’t really think it’s for me, you know?”

“And that’s fine,” Bucky answers, but Natasha just shrugs and holds out a grabby hand for the lighter. Steve tosses it to her, Bucky’s hand sliding down low enough when he leans forward to rub against his back when he returns. 

“More for us,” Sam agrees. 

Natasha doesn’t seem to be done, though, always one to follow through on her game. “I’m sure Barnes wouldn’t mind sharing,” she says. Bucky shares practically everything with Steve. They all know this. “Besides, Bruce would probably want to know if it works on both of you. In the name of science, and all.” She smiles, just so it’s clear she’s teasing. 

Bucky snorts and Steve lets out a small puff of his own that’s echoed by Bucky’s next exhale, tracked out of the corner of Steve’s eye. “What’s mine is his,” he says. “But he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“No one’s saying that, mama cat,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Maybe I just want to see America’s golden boy get a little stoned.”

Bucky rubs his hand over Steve’s back and rolls the shoulder holding his joint to test out the pain. It’s faded a lot by now, and his head is fuzzy, but clear enough to be comfortable. “You’ve already seen him drunk.”

“Tipsy,” Steve corrects, looking a little embarrassed. 

Sam reminds them all why a moment later. “Tipsy enough to sit on Bucky’s lap in front of Fury and tell Maria you wanted him to f-“

“Sammy-“ Steve interjects, but Bucky has him beat to the interruption. 

“He doesn’t have to be drunk to sit on my lap. Although everything else...yeah, that might’ve been mostly the mead.” He grins at Steve’s narrowed expression. “C’mon, sunshine. We’re all friends here. No shame in nothin’.”

Steve doesn’t look ashamed so much as exasperated, but even with that, he’s smiling when Bucky kisses his forehead only to blow smoke into his hair and laugh at Steve’s vain efforts to shake it out. “Buck, I’m gonna _reek_ ,” he complains, though he doesn’t sound too irritated. Everything already smells like weed anyways. “See if I sit in your lap now, jerk.”

“Aw, sugar,” Bucky says lowly, voice rougher than usual from the reefer. “C’mon and climb up and I’ll make it up to you, how about that?”

“I am still _here_ ,” Sam repeats, but Bucky ignores him in favor of smiling at Steve to win him over. 

He pats his leg for extra invitation. “Don’t leave me lonely, Stevie.”

Steve huffs and glances at the ground, but a moment later he’s giving in and crawling over to do just as Bucky’s asked, positioning himself sideways on Bucky’s lap, arms looped around his neck while Bucky lays his not holding the blunt around his side to hold him up. “This what you wanted?” he asks, sighing when Bucky nuzzles into him, warm and smelling of smoke. 

“You’re always what I want,” Bucky tells him, grinning wide when Steve practically squirms at the over the top sweetness. He takes in another drag and taps ash off the end, careful to avoid a spot that’ll land it on Steve’s socks. “Nat, pass me the lighter, would you? Thanks.” He hates having to relight, but it’s not often he’s ever gotten to smoke something besides a cigarette only with himself, so he wants to make it last. 

She does so with a leer that Bucky might take seriously if he didn’t know blondes like Sharon are more her speed than ones like Steve. “You gonna give it a try, Rogers?”

Steve’s eyes flick to her and then back to where Bucky is lighting up again. He blinks at the eye contact Bucky makes with him after, eyebrows raised in amusement at his attentiveness. Maybe that soft spot he has for Bucky smoking is bigger than he thought. 

“Maybe,” he eventually says. There’s temptation in his tone, and Bucky is mildly surprised. 

“Really?” he asks, blowing smoke out with his response and clearing his throat when it catches slightly. “You wanna? S’fine with me as long as you’re sure.”

“One hit won’t get him high, Barnes,” Sam sighs, catching the lighter when Bucky tosses it back to the table. “He’s a super soldier.”

“And this is super weed,” Bucky counters. “It’d also be his first time-“

“Oh, you’re gonna pop his smoking cherry too?” Natasha says drily. 

Bucky ignores her, stroking over Steve’s exposed waist where his t-shirt has ridden up and looking at him instead. Steve is idly staring back, a smile still shadowed on his face where he’s been rolling his eyes at all of their antics. “You wanna?” he asks, directly to Steve this time. 

He knows this started out mostly for his benefit- and it’s worked, with how much better his arm is feeling, albeit still achy- and he’s perfectly happy sitting here with Steve’s waist in one hand and a joint in the other, but he doesn’t want Steve to feel left out just because Bucky didn’t expect him to want to join in. He’s seen what assumptions of being too clean or above things have done to Steve’s self perception. The blonde has some autonomy issues of his own. 

Steve worries at his lower lip and glances at Bucky from under his lashes, looking so young and pretty in the low light of their patio that Bucky’s chest feels thick with something that has nothing to do with smoke. Seeing Steve genuinely relaxed after what they’ve gone through comes on occasions few and far in between when they’re places outside their bed, and Bucky cherishes every one. 

Hence the kiss he plants on Steve’s cheek, even before the other man’s answer comes. When it does though, Steve’s nodding, and Natasha grins with a whistle behind him. “Attaboy, Rogers,” she calls. “Let’s see you light up.”

Steve groans and gives her a mocking glare from where he has his head tilted to rest against Bucky’s own. “Shut it, you two.” He gives Sam a look as well for the grin he’s giving off. 

“I didn’t even say anything!” Sam exclaims. 

Bucky laughs and shifts his thighs under where Steve is sitting on top of him to spread them wider. Might as well get them more comfortable if they’re gonna be here a while. “That’s a first.”

“You shut it too,” Steve murmurs, although his voice still lacks any heat. He’s looking at Bucky with big eyes as he takes in another round of smoke in only to pull out the stops and go for a French Inhale, exactly the way Dernier taught him how to do back once when they were on leave. The sight if it gets Steve’s eyes going wider, as well as his legs as he rearranges himself to sit up on Bucky’s lap. Looks more complicated than it actually is, but if it gets Steve so sweet- Bucky won’t give up that little secret for now.

“I’ll shut you,” Bucky shoots back. Steve rolls his eyes at the nonsensical retort, arms wrapping around Bucky’s neck tighter until Bucky has to set the joint down on his thigh so he can give Steve the proper attention of pulling him in for a kiss that has Sam groaning and Natasha letting out an honest to God giggle- she must be less sober than Bucky assumed. 

Steve’s bleary eyed by the time he pulls away, blush barely visible with how dim it is outside. “You taste like it,” he murmurs. His nose is wrinkles up the slightest amount with how long it’s been since he’s been so close while Bucky was doing this. 

Bucky snorts and raises an eyebrow at him, fingers skritching at his side. “You’re about to taste like it too if you wanna smoke it with me.” He presses his fingers in to get Steve’s attention. “That is, if you still want to?” Like Bucky suspected, Steve’s still hesitating, so he decides (for once) to quit the teasing and offer him an out- or an ease up, of sorts. “Tell you what. Since it’s your first time and all, we’ll try something a little less than straight up smoking, yeah?”

Steve’s posture is a little stiff, expression a little prissy- but he nods, and his voice comes out hopeful. “Yeah?” 

“Don’t know if this is the word all the youngin’s are using nowadays,” Bucky hums, smirking at Steve’s eye roll- they’re both barely in their thirties, for Christ’s sake. Or Steve is, at least. Bucky might be older, but he’s not feeling up for spiraling enough to ruminate over that right now, not when Steve is sitting so sweetly in his lap with their friends by his side. He sets his metal elbow on the arm of the porch swing, blunt pinched between his pointer and middle fingers. “But how’s about we try out a shotgun instead?”

Sam’s pulled face from the table seems to only pique Steve’s interest more. “Yeah?”

Bucky brings his face back up close so their lips are practically brushing. “Think of it as a fancy smoke trick,” he murmurs. “I breathe in and then out into that pretty mouth of yours. You take it in, try it out a little, and you can see how you like it without it having to be as harsh.” He kisses him, just a tease, before leaning back and looking up at him patiently for an answer. 

Luckily enough for Bucky’s still lit joint, he doesn’t have to wait long. Steve’s eyes are a little blown from the very idea- and he’s nodding eagerly before Bucky even knows it. “That sounds- yeah,” he breathes, and Bucky smiles. Steve was right. He needed- hell they _all_ needed- to relax. This is damn well helping to accomplish that. His arm is feeling miles better than a heating pad has ever been able to get it. 

“You wanna try, sweetheart?” he asks, just to clarify (and fine, because he likes to see Steve blush when Bucky calls him pretty names in front of other people). He takes in an easy drag just to emphasize what he means, exhaling into the small space between them. 

Steve’s own breathing stutters even without the joint Bucky has pressed between his lips, but he nods, looking so determined Bucky can’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure, I’ll give it a go.”

“Let’s see it then,” Natasha calls to them. When Bucky looks over at her, he can see how she’s now got her feet propped in Sam’s lap, ankles crossed as lopsided as her grin. “Well, boys?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and pats Steve on the hip. He’s not as old as everyone jokes about them being (at least he doesn’t think) but holding Steve’s weight up on one shoulder isn’t exactly the best angle for sharing smoke and he _does_ want to keep him in his lap- so with that thought in mind- 

“You okay to straddle me while we do this?” he asks Steve, large hand rubbing up and down Steve’s back. “Think it’d be easier.” And probably more enjoyable, if he’s being honest, though he won’t say that where Sam or Nat can hear. 

Steve’s gaze turns slightly suspicious, but he nods and scoots to do as Bucky had suggested, settling down with a knee on either side of Bucky’s thighs spread out thick under the grey cotton of his sweats with a hand braced on his flesh shoulder, while Bucky’s own free one finds its way back to his waist. Soon enough, the warmth and weight of him is keeping Bucky grounded- even if it wasn’t, Steve’s heady gaze on him while he waits for what’s been offered is grounding enough. 

The way the swing and their bodies are angled, Stege’s expression and is shrouded from their friends by the broad expanse of his back, but from Natasha’s smirk and Sam’s fondly exasperated sigh, they both know damn well what the eyes Bucky’s giving him mean in relation to what’s being shown in Steve’s own. 

“Saps,” Sam mutters under his breath. 

Bucky just grins lazily and pets over Steve’s hip while Steve twists to throw Sam a pleased smile over his shoulder. Like Bucky said, he likes being able to be shown off a little, show off to others just how much Bucky loves him. PDA to the general public is one thing, but PDA in front of their friends- that’s another. One Steve is still sometimes shy about, but doesn’t often shy away from. 

He doesn’t shy away now, not even when Bucky’s grip tightens on his hip enough for the intent to be clear. Steve’s his. He likes letting other people know (as if their friends aren’t already well aware). 

Bucky blames the fuzzed out brain-to-mouth filter for what comes out next- but he can’t help it. Steve looks so pretty like this, feels so good- in his stupidly tight shirt, hair still mussed from watching movies on the couch, bright eyes and broad on Bucky’s lap while he looks down and waits for Bucky to give him the go ahead- he’s drop dead gorgeous in the domestic way that always gets Bucky’s head spinning. He tells him as much. 

“So damn gorgeous, honey,” he sighs, taking in a drag to keep the cherry of his joint lit while he takes a look at the sight of Steve on his lap, wanting and waiting for what Bucky’s got in his mouth right now. _Jesus_. He can’t believe they hadn’t thought to do this before with Steve’s serum set body. 

Steve hums and leans forward to whisper back with a motion that puts his chest right in Bucky’s space- one of the perks of this position. He’s a good bit taller sitting like this, still just as big- but somehow, like always, he’s still the same sweet thing he was when he was small and couldn’t let Bucky even bring back smoke secondhand around him without coughing himself into a fit. 

“Gonna put your money where your mouth is?” he murmurs, hands curling on Bucky’s shoulders- even now making sure to keep the one on Bucky’s left side lighter, keeping in mind how they’d ended up in this position in the first place. He’s considerate like that. Bucky loves him. 

Loves him enough to keep from leading him on like this- he nods, and with a slow smile, lifts the blunt up to his lips and takes a long pull, locking it into place between his fingers before lifting up his hand from Steve’s waist to cup the back of his neck and bring him in for an exhale against his mouth that resembles a kiss. 

Par to Bucky’s instructions, Steve parts his lips and inhales at the same time, nose bumping against Bucky’s when he tilts his head far enough for Bucky’s lips rest against his own while he mimics Bucky’s breathing with a slow and controlled intake of his own that ends in a slightly dazed expression as he leans back to let Bucky properly breathe. His own lungs empty of smoke, Bucky smiles and lets the haze of the hit and the heat of Steve on his lap wash over him, fingers kneading at the back of his neck to coax him through it. Steve holds the smoke in for a moment- exploring, proving a point, Bucky isn’t sure- but he seems to be enjoying himself at least. 

He’s got a surprised expression on his face when he finally does blow the smoke out (less than gracefully, which Sam laughs at), and Bucky thinks it’s maybe at just how much he liked it. Personally, Bucky liked it a _lot_. For different reasons, he knows. 

Regardless of Bucky’s reasons, Steve shifts against him and looks ready to go again, enough so that Bucky has to let out an exhale that has exactly nothing to do with the blunt still gently grasped in his prosthetic’s grip. “Jesus,” he mutters, words slipping out again. He’s always been a bit loose in the mouth when he isn’t sober. Steve knows that better than anyone- he’s practically the same way, if not worse. Less eloquent, less smooth, but definitely worse. 

“Again?” Steve asks, and Natasha practically whoops behind him. Bucky’d almost forgot they were there. This stuff is a more than suitable distraction from other things than just his arm.

“America’s Sweetheart smoking?” she laughs, toes wiggling in her socks on Sam’s lap. “Well I never.” She looks at Sam with a faux shocked expression, the other man laughing easily in agreement. 

Steve grunts and gives them both peeved looks they all know are only for play. “Not America’s Sweetheart,” he grumbles. 

“That’s right,” Bucky grins, lifting his half gone joint up in a mock toast. “He’s mine.” Steve goes a bit doe eyed at that, although he groans right along with Sam just for show, as if they all can’t see through it. “Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Steve sighs, but nods and nuzzles into Bucky’s hand when he moves it from the nape of his neck to cup at his cheek instead, thumb brushing over his lips until the pad of it dips inside. “Your fingers taste like weed,” Steve whispers. There’s no way a single hit has him high, but he sounds hazy enough for Bucky to wonder how much would get him there. 

“So does my mouth, but I bet you want that on you,” Bucky whispers back, smiling when Steve’s expression grows flustered at the implication. “You still wanna go again?”

Steve takes a moment to think about it, a lull filled by the sound of Sam and Natasha chatting behind him. Everything and everyone feels slow and lazy in a way that Bucky is no longer used to but finds himself liking. “Once more,” he decides. “Then you can have the rest.”

Bucky snorts and sweeps his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip again. “How generous of you.” In truth, the blunt is almost far gone enough for Bucky to be ready to set it down anyways, but he doesn’t tell Steve that, already too busy bringing it back up in order to repeat the process of pulling both Steve and the smoke back in towards his mouth. Steve meets him halfway, eager for it now that he’s had his first taste. 

His efforts are surer, though just as earnest, shotgun more of a sloppy kiss once their lips touch on the intake of Steve’s breath. Bucky’s gentle, even when Steve groans into it, hand holding the blunt hovering out of the way while the other cradles his cheekbone. The space between them when Bucky pulls back enough to exhale properly has Steve making a sound of loss, but soon enough he’s settled once the dulled down smoke hits the back of his throat and the sensation of it sinks down in his lungs. 

The smoke he breathes out floats off into the air above them, and Steve’s head lolls back to watch it until it’s gone, dissipated from view but not from scent. He looks thoughtful and a lot of other things that make Bucky want to kiss him- so he does, slow and sweet, just how Steve looks to be feeling. 

Steve blinks at him once he pulls away, shifting again in his seat against Bucky’s lap. His own sweats stretch tighter over his legs when he settles down lower. “Thanks,” he says softly, fingers curling into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt. 

Bucky hums and nods to Natasha behind him. “For the weed? Think you oughta thank her, not me.”

“Yeah,” Natasha teases. She looks tired, but her tone is still as pointed as ever. “You forget me and Wilson are still here, lover boys?”

“Don’t they always?” Sam sighs, teasing as well. He’s dropped his own blunt onto the small tray Natasha must have pulled from her bag, seemingly done for the evening. 

Natasha’s almost there herself based on how short her joint has gotten, and Bucky starts thinking briefly about how he and Steve will most likely end up asking them to stay the night in their guest rooms- he hasn’t been high in a while, but he has enough manners to know letting his friends wander off while they are (even if it’s only a bit) isn’t good form. Especially in New York City. 

“Hey,” Steve says, watching Bucky take in one of what will be one of his last drags with hazy eyes. “It’s our house.”

“And my weed,” Natasha sings.

“ _Bruce’s_ weed,” Steve fires back, and Bucky laughs. 

“C’mon, honey, we’re supposed to be hosting. Already gave them dinner, what’s wrong with offering a show?” He knows his expression is lewd, but that’s the intention, although he has no plans on following through- for one, Sam would leave, and for two, Bucky’s not having sex with Steve until they’re both sober. He has _manners_ (doesn’t mean he can’t tease Steve about it, though). 

It makes him fluff up with how flustered he is, focus on Bucky’s final pull on his almost gone blunt not enough to keep him from groaning. He only flushes more when Bucky tightens his grip on his waist. “You’d be performing solo,” he says primly. 

Bucky laughs and flicks the stub of his finished blunt onto the stone of their patio. He’ll pick it up tomorrow. He doesn’t feel like dislodging Steve from his lap enough to get to the tray. “Their loss.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Sam says drily. “After last time Steve got drunk, I’ve seen enough to last a lifetime.”

Steve sighs and drops his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “ _Tipsy,_ ” he insists. “I haven’t been drunk since-“ he seems like he’s gearing up for a joke, but all the sudden falters when the reality sinks in. “Since before the tavern we went to with the Howlies.” He finishes off a good bit softer than he’s started. 

Bucky tries not to wince. That might sound like a good memory, but anyone who knows Steve or has heard Peggy’s spiel in the Smithsonian- which all of them have- also knows that tavern was where he holed himself up after Bucky fell from the train. He doesn’t think it’d do either of them any good to think about that right now, so he runs a hand up and down Steve’s back, skin smooth under his shirt. 

“Think you might be a little _loopy_ right now,” he says lightly, hoping to change the subject to something better. They’re all tired and a little zoned out, so he doesn’t think it’ll be hard, even with as stubborn as Steve is. “You feeling any different?”

Steve lets out a thoughtful noise and takes Bucky’s newly freed up hands as an opportunity to shift position on his lap again, moving from straddling him to instead return back to a sideways position with his ass sat in the space between Bucky’s thigh and the arm of the swing, legs tucked up over to stretch out on the other side. Like this, Bucky’s metal shoulder (pain practically a distant memory, by now) is behind him, not supporting so much as cradling while Steve leans his face into his neck, eyes closed with strands fallen from Bucky’s bun tickling against his lashes.

“Little more tired, I guess,” he says. “But...good.” He looks peaceful, which is something Bucky doesn’t get to see on him often. 

“It’s good stuff,” Natasha agrees. “How are _you_ feeling, James?” His arm, she must mean. 

He flexes it where the fingers are resting on Steve’s bicep, flesh hand echoing the movement on the other side where it’s petting over one of Steve’s thrown out thighs. “Better,” he admits, glad to be honest. “A lot better. I haven’t really tried much for it before, but I think this helped.” Usually, the pain lasts for hours, sometimes the entire day if he’s unlucky. Tonight it had faded out of focus in half that.

Sam yawns and rubs a hand over his hair. “Medical marijuana isn’t uncommon for vets to use outside of just recreation. Helps settle the mind, the body- gets a bit tricky since the VA can’t technically endorse it seeing as it’s not legal everywhere and we’re a federal office, but I know plenty of guys who say it helps them.” He shrugs. “Can’t speak for everyone, but talking to Bruce when he’s back around to see if he can hook you up with some more to help out with the pain…”

Natasha hums. “Might be worth trying.”

Bucky doesn’t answer them right away, too busy soaking in the option and enjoying the sensation of Steve curled up on his lap- he’s so deep and thought it’s almost startling when Steve speaks into his neck, slow and sleepy. “Shouldn’t have to be in pain so much, Buck,” he says softly. “I know how that feels, and it’s not good.” 

He’s clearly referring to his own past with it, all the ailments he had before the serum that left him aching on every other day- and Bucky’s pain might not be as constant or caused by the same thing, but the point does stir up the silent memories of all that Bucky tried to do to stop Steve’s best he could. 

_Shouldn’t suffer in silence_ , he’d always said- _still_ says to Steve when he’s done something stupid- _Not when I’m around to help you stick it out._

Glancing up to their friends and down to Steve’s head tucked under his chin, he decides to finally take his own advice. 

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him about it,” he says, smiling slightly when Steve makes a happy sound and kisses his neck, smile only getting wider when he lifts his head to do the same on Bucky’s lips. He tastes like pot and popcorn, but still, it’s a good kiss. Kisses with Steve always are. 

Steve’s toes curl when he tucks his head back in towards Bucky’s throat, hand doing the same on his shoulder when Bucky starts to properly rock them both back and forth on the swing. The motion elicits a hum that Bucky can feel against his chest. “That’s good, Buck,” he sighs. “Real good.”

_This_ is good, Bucky thinks. Having Steve curled up on top of him, warm and lazily wanting, friends right by their side and ready to banter or let him take a breath- it’s good. Bucky’d like to do this again. Maybe even with Steve alone so he can properly feel him up and let that filter slip away, but here in this mokent, this is more than just good- it’s good _enough._ That’s something Bucky’s learned not to take for granted. 

For now, he glances down and squeezes Steve’s leg tight, drawing it in closer so his body is held properly to him. “Oughta go inside, soon.” It’s nearly eleven by now, not too late as nights with friends go- but he still has to clean up the living room, and all the smoking has them all half asleep anyways. “You guys know you’re welcome to stay. Guest rooms are ready as long as you are.”

Natasha yawns and lets her feet slip from Sam’s lap, grabbing her purse to hold under her arm while she starts the walk back into the house. “Try not to make too much noise tonight. Some of us have flights to catch tomorrow morning.”

Sam, who always takes the room next to Steve and Bucky’s own, grimaces good naturedly and gets up to follow her. “I second that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at the teasing. “You guys can find your way to your rooms, I presume. We’ll head in in a bit.” Natasha wiggles her eyebrows at them, but in truth, Bucky’s only staying where he is because he doesn’t have it in him to force Steve up yet. 

Steve doesn’t seem to be in any rush to go anywhere, anyways, bidding Sam and Natasha goodnight with a less than gracious grunt. “See you tomorrow morning. Night.”

“Night.”

The patio door clicks shut and leaves the two of of them alone for the first time in hours. It’s not very quiet- never is in New York- but their backyard still feels like a sort of bubble when Bucky looks down and brushes a strand of blonde off Steve’s face, pulled back and pouting like he’s asking for a kiss. Bucky gives it to him. 

“You have a good time tonight, sweetheart?” he murmurs, right up against his mouth. 

Steve nods and cups his stubble, Bucky’s evening beard scratching against his skin as he kisses him again. “I missed them,” he says quietly. Another kiss, then, “I’m glad you were able to have a good time too.” _Even with your arm hurting_ goes unsaid, but Bucky hears it. 

He lets Steve draw him in for another languid kiss, hand controlling the pace from the back of his neck, before answering. “Thanks for not letting me wallow,” he whispers. 

“So you admit that’s what you were doing?” Steve laughs when Bucky’s eyes narrow, nudging his way into another long kiss before Bucky can reply. “S’fine. Long as that’s not what you’re doing now.”

Bucky grunts and lets Steve lick a stripe up the column of his throat, hips pushing down in a way they both recognize. “What I’m doing _now_ is keeping my boyfriend from trying to neck with me when our friends are right inside and neither of us are strictly sober.”

“Inside about to go to sleep!” Steve protests. He huffs, but doesn’t push back at Bucky’s pointed look. Boundaries are something their shrinks have always pushed them to be aware of, especially ones like these. “I’m not high, for the record. But I won’t complain anymore,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “As long as you carry me to bed.”

“Carry you, huh?” Bucky rubs his hand up and down his back, already moving the other from his thigh to slide behind the crook of his knees 

“I’m _tired_.” Steve nuzzles into his neck, smiling sleepily. Little shit. “But only if your arm is feeling up for it,” he adds.

Bucky kisses his forehead and supports said arm behind his back, already preparing to lift him up bridal style and do as he was asked. “Feels fine, now.”

“You sure?” Steve laughs out breathlessly when Bucky shows him how _sure_ he is by hoisting him up and taking the first step forward. “Thanks, Buck.”

“No problem, Stevie,” Bucky promises. It really isn’t. Steve’s heavy, but lifting him isn’t _too_ hard- hell, Bucky’s thrown him out windows before (not his best move, but still one he made). Perks of having a superpowered prosthesis. And probably perks of how often work has him hitting the gym lately. “Get the door handle for me, would you? Hands are a bit full.” 

Steve does, briefly dropping his hand from Bucky’s neck before bringing it right back up again and holding on tighter. He’s like a koala right now, one that reeks of a leaf that is definitely not eucalyptus, though Bucky knows he’s probably reeking too. It’s fine, though. He’ll just throw their clothes from tonight in the wash tomorrow. It practically _is_ tomorrow- quarter to it once he glances at their nightstand clock and gets close enough to deposit Steve on the bed. 

Steve is still sluggish with his movement, but wastes no time in stripping out of his socks, pants, and shirt until he’s left in only his briefs. He doesn’t lay down, though, not until he gets an eyeful of Bucky doing the same, grey sweats and black shirt joining Steve’s on the floor before he’s left in only his underwear too. Boxers rather than briefs, but same difference. 

Bucky snorts and switches off the light, already crawling up to climb under the covers. “No complaining, hotshot, remember?”

Steve rolls his eyes but does the same, and soon enough Bucky has an armful of super soldier again, pressed up warm against him. “Wasn’t complaining,” he grumbles, sighing when Bucky’s bare arms wrap around him. “Just looking. I'm allowed to look.”

Bucky kisses his hair. “That you are.” He kisses his lips next once they’re offered. “Love you, sweetheart.”

Steve pulls the covers up to their chins and cuddles in closer. “Love you back,” he says softly. Then, with a tired smile. “Even though you kinda smell like smoke.”

Bucky snorts. “So do you, pal.” He starts when Steve presses his ice feet between his legs in retaliation, groaning. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“You’re one to talk, Barnes.” 

Bucky grins, shining low in the light coming through their window. The innuendo is shy, but it’s there. “Yeah, but that’s the _good_ kind.”

“You saying I’m not the good kind?” Steve sounds too drowsy to be properly indignant, halfway to drifting off.

Bucky’s almost there himself. “Figuratively, maybe.” His tone is tired, but not too tired to tease.

Steve’s own response is so quiet Bucky only catches it because of how close he has the other man held. “You’re awful.”

“I think awfully _amusing_ is the word.”

“I only got one word for you, Buck.” Steve burrows in closer, nose pressed against Bucky’s neck, and before Bucky can ask what it is, he’s muttering it against him. “ _Goodnight_.”

Bucky smiles, and presses a final kiss to his hair. He loves this man so much he’s stupid with it even without the smoking. 

He holds him closer, and thinks to himself that even if his life will never be painless or free of whatever phantoms his past carries with it- this is the only thing near perfect he needs. Steve, their friends, himself, safe and secure. Home. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. Things with Steve always are. 

He closes his eyes and gets ready for his consciousness to carry him off, but before that has to say the last thing he always says to Steve before he lets sleep separate them.

“Night, Steve. Sweet dreams.”

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> welcome to another niche fic written by carol for my own sanity. hope you enjoyed :) lack of feedback has kinda had me in a slump lately, so if anyone can spare some ... not to beg but it would be nice if anyone is willing to give ! i just like being able to know who enjoys my stuff and what they’d like to see more of, you know? you know.  
> i’ll probably see you soon with a valentines day fic & the february installment for the sub steve book club, so look out for that and stay safe as usual!


End file.
